Dead Wood

I went through it, into a small mudroom. There were potted plants and gardening gloves and an umbrella. The door leading from the mudroom into the kitchen was open as well. Inside the kitchen, I saw a few dishes in the sink, a pot on the stove, and a small cat bowl with food in it.

From the kitchen, I went through a doorway into a small dining room and off the dining room was a living room. The place was furnished with big, overstuffed chairs and throw rugs. A small fireplace sat off to one side of the living room. I saw on the mantle a collection of photographs.

To my right, I saw a stairwell and heard a bumping noise from above me.

“Hello!” I yelled up. No one answered.

I climbed the stairs two at a time and came to a hallway with three doors. The first door on my right was open, and I could see tile as well as the edge of a pedestal sink.

To my left was another door, closed. And straight ahead, the third door was open, and I could see shadows moving inside. I walked forward, my heart beating from exertion and fear.

For the first time in my career, I desperately wished for a gun.

I peeked into the room and immediately understood the bumping sound and the moving shadows.

Memphis hung from the ceiling fan, her neck stretched in a way that could mean only one thing. The ceiling fan was on, slowly spi

I froze, unable to tear myself away from the image of Memphis’ face, her lips frozen in a look of terror, blood dripping from her nose—

Blood dripping . . .

Fresh blood . . .

An electric spike shot down my spine just as I heard the whisper of a shoe on carpet, and I ducked, but the blow cracked along my vertebrae between my shoulder blades. I hit the floor. I rolled and caught the sight of Erma’s—or was it Freda’s?—face flushed red, her teeth gritted, a Taser in her hand.

She cursed in German, and I rolled into the bedroom where Memphis hung.

And I rolled right under Freda.

She’d been standing behind the door. While her sister had been in the bedroom with the door closed. As I watched them descend on me, I realized they knew I was coming. Somehow, they knew. They’d staged the scene to lure me in.

The first one pounced on me, sat on my chest, and pi

If I had any doubts about what they were trying to do, those doubts ended when the first one grabbed a handful of my hair and brought her gun up toward my mouth. I gritted my teeth, but she let go of my hair, brought her forearm down and pinched my nose shut.

I held my breath, knowing what was going to happen. When I opened my mouth to breathe, she would jam the gun in and blow off the top of my head.

Then they would jot a little note.

Double suicide. Or murder/suicide depending on which story they went with.

I’d killed Memphis for some reason, and then they’d bring out my past. An ex-cop ate his gun. Happens all the fucking time. Every day, in fact.

I didn’t think my sister would let it ride, but hey, these two fuckers were pros. They’d make it look very good, very real.

My lungs were on fire, and I knew I couldn’t hold my breath very much longer. The first one had a little smile on her face. She looked like a mean little kid who’d pulled the wings off a fly and was now happily watching it die a pathetic little spasmodic death.

It pissed me off.

Every muscle in my body slammed into place, and I bucked with everything I had.

The first one barely moved.

But move she did.

Just enough to free my left arm.

I reached up and got her neck and bucked again, this time bringing her head toward me as I rammed my head forward. I heard and felt her nose squash against my forehead. Blood sprayed, and now my right arm was loose. I grabbed the gun as the woman on top of me sagged. The gun fired a round, and the explosion brought the three of us into a burst of frantic energy.

I’d hoped that I’d knocked the first one out, but her eyes cleared just as I was bringing the gun around. She had the advantage, but I had momentum on my side. I gave one more shove, and the gun came around toward her chest.

I pulled the trigger.

Just as she was knocked back, the second one let go of my legs and reached for her gun. I put three rounds into her chest, and she staggered back into the hallway and fell on her ass, her feet still in the room. She had a look of utter sadness, looking down at her dead sister. She toppled over then, her big body landing with a thud.

The smell of gunpowder was overwhelming, and I felt stars shooting across my forehead.

Everything started to go black, and I was suddenly scared I’d been shot.

But then I realized why.

I was still holding my breath.

Chapter Forty-Two

The first thing I did was vomit. I made it to the toilet, worrying about destroying evidence, but hurl I did. My whole body was shaking, probably from both fear and the aftermath of having an ungodly amount of volts shot through my system. I was having a near-death and an out-of-body experience at the same time.

Somehow, I found my way back to the first bedroom, where one of the twins had been hiding. I assumed the note was meant to be written in my hand, and sure enough, there was a slip of paper. It was the one on which I’d jotted down my name and phone number and given to someone in Sha

It was standard, depressed prose: “God forgive me, I’m a failure . . .” The note said I had begun an affair with Memphis, fallen in love, and when I told her it was over because I was a relatively happily married man, she killed herself. Which then weighed so heavily on me that I could only deal with it by killing myself as well.

The note stopped there, probably when I entered the house and interrupted the forger at work.

I thought about what to do next. I should call the police. Yes, call the police. They would arrive, I’d make my statement, a few hours of questioning, and I’d be released around midnight. No, don’t call the police. I stood there, shaking, trying to pull myself together.

Shit. I checked my watch. It was late—I would have to hurry to make my meeting with Sha

Leaving the scene of a crime was a felony. So was killing people, and I had two dead bodies to my name, and a third hanging from a ceiling fan.

With the old woman and the hound, and the people on the ferry, I knew there was no way I could avoid facing the cops. The question was: when did I want to face them? Leaving the scene of a crime would be more than enough to have my PI license revoked.

Still, I was hot on this thing, and I had a feeling that my meeting with Sha

I decided to compromise. First, I did a quick run-through of Memphis’ house, looking for anything that I could use with Sha

I went through every room in the house but came up empty. There was no other choice. I left the house and made a beeline for the silver BMW. It was either Memphis’ or the twins’, but I didn’t know which.

I looked inside and saw a bag in the front passenger seat’s floor space. It struck a chord with me, and for some reason, I didn’t think it belonged to one of the twins.

In fact, I could’ve sworn that I’d seen the bag somewhere. It looked neat and organized, made of brown leather. I could see the Franklin pla